Blood-Scar
by BlackenedAsh24
Summary: Blood-Scar, an ancient weapon forged by a powerful Bloodmage of unknown origin. Follow its creation and how it fell into the hands of the Hero of Ferelden. (Dragon Age: Origins)


Blood-Scar

Another drop of blood, another slit of his wrist, another death on his hands. Darius was one of the most powerful Bloodmages to ever live. He could destroy cities by killing a child, he could rip the blood out of people's dying bodies and use it to bring an army through from the fade itself. He was what the Chantry warned and hunted apostates for to prevent from happening, and yet when his daughter laid dying in his arms he could do nothing. Her life force was bleeding away, he was powerless. The murderers were the Archdemon's minions, the Darkspawn. His daughter died while they were trying to flee from a horde of Darkspawn mere minutes before Garahel defeated the fourth blight. If Garahel would have plunged that sword in not three seconds sooner then his daughter would have lived. Darius didn't hate Garahel for his poor timing. He hated himself and mages like him that created the Darkapawn in the first place, as a virus to control enemy populations! Another drop of blood fell from his hand and onto the ruin he had drawn into the ground. He wanted to change the world, but after deal after bloody deal with his demons, he was still not powerful enough to do what he wished. "Argh! What will it take!" He fell to his knees after another agonizing ripple of pain hit him as a result of his most recent deal. He had left civilization behind in favor of the secluded Frostback mountains. It was cold, dangerous, and flooded with weary travelers that no-one would miss if they just, disappeared. Darius sighed as he casted another numbing spell over his body, he hadn't rested since that one traveling Templar somehow caught him off-guard and fatally wounded him during a surprise attack. He resorted to his small skills with throwing knives to win that day. He then spent the next five minutes drinking every healing potion he could find and digging around in his pack for a spell that he found out through a deal two months back, one that took the blood and bone of the dead as a source of healing energy. He succeeded in saving himself that day, but the long scar across his chest where the Templar's sword met his heart was still plainly visible. Darius sat down upon a log near his campfire and rubbed his pale and severely scarred hands over his face. The nightmares from before that incident had pushed him to what he was today. His skin was sickeningly scarred and pale from his work on his pride and joy, the staff he was crafting to destroy all of Thedas. His eyes looked like pools of blood with a black center from his years of insomnia. His body was starting to whither and die on its own accord and he needed more time. The staff he was building was something beyond even the crafting abilities of the master elves that used to ply their craft in their ancient forgotten city Arlathan. The cylindrical base of the staff was forged of the purist crystals of Black Lyrium, a terribly powerful and infinitely rare form of Lyrium borne of twenty suffering souls being forcibly trapped and woven into a Lyrium rock while a demon sacrificed its own undying soul to the craftsman. Darius took the first eight years of his self exultation to build the core of the staff's power. Even he couldn't begin to understand the steps he followed to craft such an element. The next was the central pole of the staff. He had at one time hunted down and stolen a sizable amount of the Archdemon's blood and bone to craft this piece. The most Ancient blood rites used a technique of blood-crafting to build armor out of the solid form of the red liquid. He used this to melt down the remains of the Archdemon into a solid form that could magnify and stabilize the Black-Lyrium core without destroying the staff or the user. That process took him over thirty tedious years as he needed to be extremely careful not to waste any drop of the Dragon's precious blood and bone. The staff now powered and stabilized, he started forging ruined rings out of Volcanic Obsidian he... acquired... from a traveling merchant from the Dwarven City under the mountain on which he was camped. These rings would empower the user with enough upgrades to make a toddler barely able to cast a small spark able to tear holes into the fade at will. Each ring was unique, each had the highest enchantment of its class imbued into its edges. He still remembers the day he spent sliding the rings down the center of the staff and fusing them at the most precise of angles imaginable to allow the energy to flow throughout the staff and into the user without any issues beyond Willpower and Magical talent. After all 666 rings were properly placed and fused, he had to seal them with his own blood and the blood of ten powerful demons to forever protect the staff from destruction by nothing less but the Maker himself. Darius cringed at the memory of that day, he had chosen to use the demons he had already made deals with so that those deals would also be imbued into the staff. It worked, although it forcibly ripped the knowledge out of him as a result. Now he must be holding the unfinished staff to remember how to finish it. Now after thirty eight years of hard work and many hundreds of lost soul's life-forces he was just one short knife-cut away from completing the staff he appropriately named Blood-Scar. Darius stood from his seat on the log and grabbed the staff head he crafted out of the remaining pieces and bits of Volcanic-Obsidian and Archdemon bone. The head was a mirrored blade that was crafted under the harshest conditions he could imagine. The blade actually melted and absorbed blood and flesh wherever it hit, restoring the Mage's own life-force as a result. Darius had personally crafted enough ruins for the blade that the entire surface was made of glowing blue swirls and symbols of pure Lyrium that allowed the bladed edges to destroy the most powerful of opponents with a paper-cut. Darius was beyond careful when fusing the blade onto the top of the body of the staff. If he accidentally cut himself then his work would end as quickly as his life. His blood-crusted hands molded the drops of blood and gore into form. He lost track of time as he finished the last of his life's, and hundreds of others lives, work. The enchantments on the staff's ruins glowed and pulsed a deeply heavenly blue as all time disappeared before him. Days, years, and finally entire Era's passed before the last drop of blood was in place and the Staff finally, after all this time, was born. Darius sighed contentedly before grasping the staff in his hands and standing. Tears formed in his eyes as the memory of his dead daughter's laugh filled his heart and mind. He had chosen to build the entire staff out of her soul. Every-time he touched it he felt like she was still alive, just not living enough to respond until now. "Honey?" His voice cracked and broke as he felt his daughter's life in his hands once more. He was answered with silence, but he knew she was there, watching him, guiding him, keeping him from breaking throughout the entire process. His attention was grasped by a twig snapping behind him. He whipped around to spot the strangest sight his five hundred year-old eyes had ever seen. A young yet infinitely beautiful Elven woman with large brown eyes, a soft face and long dark brown hair was staring at him while signaling for her followers that he couldn't focus on to stop. Darius spotted the weak staff upon her back and sighed, he knew her kind, that of the circle, pampered their entire lives until they either escape, die, or are forced to leave out of their own accord. He struggled to focus on the scene and found that the basic power radiating off this young Elven Mage was truly beyond that of anything he'd ever imagined. His staff matched her own soul's power perfectly, and it disturbed and intrigued him to no bounds. "Oh, visitors. I wish I had the strength to be pleasant to you and your followers young one, but alas I am an old man trying to fulfill a dream he once treasured beyond anything in Thedas and the entirety of the Fade combined." Darius sat onto a log and watched the young mage signal for everyone following her to wait before approaching him on her own. "Who are you? I can sense-" "A power beyond that of any god, demon, or man you have ever encountered? Yes, that is my staff. I believe I have put more then four hundred years into its creation so that I might destroy this realm and avenge my daughter who fell on the battlefield that ended the forth Blight." The girl stared at Darius in shock, suspicion and wonder. Darius knew his goal was worthless now that his body and soul was nearing its end. "I must be quick, I could explain every detail my staff if I had time, but I fear I may not. I have lived far beyond my time and now I have met one who matches my staff perfectly. Tell me, that is your name? Why have you come to see me?" The Elven Mage looked at Darius warily before speaking in a melodically precise voice that warmed Darius's Ancient heart. "I am Erína Serana, Grey Warden, and my companions and I were simply traveling through these mountains in search of the Dwarven City of Orzammar." Darius felt a kinship to this young woman for some strange reason he could not fathom. He felt death grip it's hands around his soul and he felt himself panic. He needed to save his Staff, but it was encoded to his own soul, he needed to re-imprint it immediately. He stood abruptly and grabbed the arm of the Elven woman in a rush before speaking one last sentence, "My staff's name is Blood-Scar, take it in the name of every god you know and wield it in whatever capacity you seek. I must imprint it upon you, I am sorry." He noticed a flash of fear come over her beautiful features as he spoke the small rite, sliced his throat and quickly etched a ruin into her arm with his blade. The woman screamed in agony as Darius's life force bled into her own and the staff imprinted itself upon her own soul for eternity. She fell to her knees and screamed even louder as she felt the staff, Blood-Scar destroy her own staff, Winter's Breath, before slapping into her strap and onto her slim back. Erína immediately felt like hundreds of years worth of knowledge and power was burning into her mind as every ritual for The Forbidden School of Magic was seared into her soul. She finally stopped screaming and panted wildly, she had never felt anything so powerful in her life. She stood up and took a deep breath before she felt the power the staff held. It made her powers overload in raw god-like power. She was a Goddess now, and now she had the means to slaughter every Darkspawn she met and stop the Blight before it ripped all of Ferelden apart. Alistair asked her if she was alright and she only nodded before touching his cheek and finally for the first time since they met, expressed her undying love for him in a heart-bursting kiss. Erína Serana was now forever changed, whether or not all of Thedas would survive that change was left to be seen.

Stats of Blood-Scar:

Damage: 100 (20 fire, 20 ice, 20 spirit, 20 nature, 20 electrical)

Requirements:  
Mage  
Magic: 21  
Willpower: 28

Attribute Bonuses:  
+50 Spellpower  
+100 Constitution  
+79 Magic  
+72 Willpower  
+75% resistance to all magic  
+25% resistance to all physical damage

Adds Bloodmage Specialization (Only when equipped), Bloodmagic is 10 Times More Effective


End file.
